


Threads of Fate

by spilledinkwitch



Series: Threads of Fate [1]
Category: Jrock, Real Person Fiction, the GazettE (Band)
Genre: Contemporary Setting, Fluff, Gender-neutral Reader, Not Beta Read, Other, POV Multiple, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Pre-band Timeline, Romance, Use of Real Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-15 12:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16063643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilledinkwitch/pseuds/spilledinkwitch
Summary: You heard it every day—a beautiful melody that seeped through the pores of the thin walls. Sometimes, you would hear the same chords over and over again, until the notes were perfected. Oftentimes, that took hours, but you didn’t mind; part of you found the sound soothing, much like rain pattering against the windows during a storm.But today, the comforting sound of the acoustic guitar had vanished.





	Threads of Fate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaximumImpulse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaximumImpulse/gifts).



> This is a giftfic that I wrote for MaximumImpulse, since she was feeling pretty down recently. I intended to post this much sooner, but this story blew up to over 4k+ words; I suppose I couldn’t help myself, lol
> 
> Anyway, I don’t often write reader inserts (or second-person POV in general), nor do I write many fluffy romance stories. I’m a bit out of my element, so please excuse any awkwardness. I intentionally made the reader as ambiguous as possible, so hopefully, most people will be able to insert themselves into the narrative. I wrote in Aoi’s POV too, just to shake things up a bit. For the sake of the story, please ignore any inconsistencies in terms of his backstory; I decided to take some artistic liberties. There’s also a reference to a certain song from a movie near the end, one that MaximumImpulse really likes; see if you can spot it!
> 
> Despite everything, I hope you all enjoy!

The agent said the place was small—but how small, Yuu had no idea.

Maybe it was his own fault; he was so desperate to escape the confines of his old life that he jumped at the chance to sign the lease, despite deciding not to take a tour of the apartment. He had little money to his name—not after his mother cut him off upon his declaration that he wanted to start a new life in Tokyo. Tempers ran hot as he loaded his bags into an old, beaten-down car; his mother threatened to disown him whilst his father looked on, shooting him disapproving looks.

Said vehicle had broken down not long after arriving in the city, and before now, he was practically living in it; to say that he was hard-up was actually more of an understatement, in retrospect.

He arranged the last of his meager belongings, and stood back to admire his handiwork for a moment. _It’s not ideal_ , he mused, fishing out his guitar from the case that leaned against the wall, _but it’s home_.

Sitting in the center of the sparse living room, he strummed his guitar, his thoughts a noisy blur.

 

You heard it every day—a beautiful melody that seeped through the pores of the thin walls. Sometimes, you would hear the same chords over and over again, until the notes were perfected. Oftentimes, that took hours, but you didn’t mind; part of you found the sound soothing, much like rain pattering against the windows during a storm.

But today, the comforting sound of the acoustic guitar had vanished. As you washed the dishes, you listened intently for any sign of movement, but to no avail; your new neighbor had been suspiciously absent for most of the afternoon. You missed those calming melodies, as you’d grown accustomed to hearing them for nearly two weeks. Mourning the sound, you dried your hands and started a pot of water for tea, then situated yourself in front of the television.

But you couldn’t get the mysterious musician out of your head.

The news anchor droned on, with various cautionary words scrolling across the screen concerning possible torrential downpours and other storm-related warnings. The pot signaled its readiness, and you returned to the kitchen with the intent of making yourself a nice cup of peppermint tea. But as you waited for the leaves to finish seeping, you heard it—the sound of the guitar.

Though this time, the notes seemed … frustrated.

You listened, feeling your own nerves fray at the agitated melody. Part of you wanted to prepare another cup and offer the stranger some tea; after all, you haven’t even bothered to introduce yourself yet. It may have been in bad form, but somehow, you felt as if their musicianship was enough—like it was a gateway into the person’s mind, the notes laying their soul bare. You were sure it sounded silly, but they seemed to put their emotions into their playing. You wondered if they were this expressive normally, or if they reserved the expression of their feelings exclusively through music.

Abruptly, a note petered out and you heard muffled cussing. You winced, the sound unpleasant, and tried not to drop the mug you held. Steam rose from the rim, and you blew on it absently as you stared at the weather report from across the apartment.

At some point, you must have wandered back into the living room—because you found yourself sipping tea and gazing disinterestedly at the TV program. Vaguely, you wondered what happened to the stranger; since the earlier incident, there had been nary a peep that came from the neighboring apartment. Were you concerned? Probably—but was it really any of your business?

There was a knock at the door.

You sat your cup aside, willing yourself to swallow the sip of tea you’d indulged in. Distantly, you considered the possibility that it was the stranger—the enigma of a being capable of producing melodies the equivalent of a mental salve. What would they be like in person? Would they live up to the image of what your mind had conjured?

When you opened the door, you received your answer.

 

The string snapped, kicking back violently.

Yuu hissed as crimson rivulets slid down his hand. The instrument forgotten, he jogged to the bathroom and yanked open the cabinet; inside, there was a small tube of toothpaste—but no medical supplies to be found. Instead, he retrieved a washcloth and used it as a makeshift bandage. He held it in place, hoping the thin material would hold up.

It was the icing on the cake, as it were, topping off a shitty day.

Obtaining a job in the first place was rather painless—but dealing with the oppressive, controlling tyrant of his boss was an entirely different ordeal. After getting scolded one too many times—and putting up with enough denigrating remarks to last a lifetime—he could no longer keep his mouth shut. He cracked and stormed out of the building, but not before the dictatorial prick relived him of his position.

When he returned home, he _may_ have taken his anger out on his guitar—and of course, she responded in kind.

He sat atop the toilet and closed his eyes. With no job, an empty bank account, a broken-down car—he was pretty much screwed. He was positive his family would absolutely relish the chance to throw his misfortune back into his face. But like hell his pride could take even a moment of that; they’d also never let him hear the end of it.

Moments passed, and blood had partially soaked through the cloth. He grimaced. Despite being at what was supposed to be the peak of his youth, his health wasn’t what it should have been; the stress and lack of proper nutrition must have affected him worse than he originally thought. _I need some antibacterial ointment_ , he thought, wrapping the wound in another washcloth. _Maybe I can ask one of the neighbors_.

He left his apartment, trying his best to keep the blood stemmed. Awkwardly, whilst keeping the material in place, he knocked on the door across the hall—but no luck. He tried the place to the left of his, but was met with similarly bad results. Whether the residents refused to answer or weren’t home, he didn’t know—but he was losing blood, and he felt fainter by the minute. He knocked on the door to the right of his apartment, praying to any deity that would listen that someone would answer.

And almost as if some divine being heeded his plea, the door slid open.

 

You stared at the man before you, captivated by his warm brown eyes and sheepish smile. As your heartbeat sped up, you struggled for words—but much to your relief, he spoke first.

“Excuse me,” he said after a moment, cradling his hand with the other. “Do you have any ointment—and a spare bandage I could use?” He chuckled, the sound smooth as honey. “You see, I had a little accident with my guitar, and …”

You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat and blinked a few times as you attempted to gather your wits—and only then you noticed the white fabric was beginning to stain red. “That was you?” you blurted out. He blushed, the hue adding some much needed color to his cheeks. Immediately, you regretted your words, thinking that you embarrassed him. “Please, come inside.”

He hesitated for a second, then took you up on your offer. Shutting the door behind him, you motioned for him to follow. Once in the bathroom, you washed your hands and then began rooting through the cabinet to retrieve the needed supplies.

“I’m sorry to bother you, especially since I haven’t even properly introduced myself,” he said, his tone apologetic.

You grabbed a box of bandages, a tube of ointment, some cotton balls—and a bottle of antiseptic, just in case. “It’s no trouble,” you said, nodding toward the edge of the tub. He sat, making himself as comfortable as he could manage, and watched as you started to tend to his wound. Carefully, you discarded the cloth and examined the injury; the cuts weren’t deep, but they needed treatment before they became infected. “This might hurt.” You gave him a tight smile.

As you applied the antiseptic, you felt him tense, the peroxide surely doing its job. Feeling remorseful for the pain he was in, you decided to divert the subject and give him something else to focus on. “I hope I’m not out of line saying this, but—your playing … it’s beautiful.”

A bashful grin pulled at his plush lips. “Thank you. I haven’t been at it for very long, so I’m not that great.”

“I think you’re just being modest.” You tossed the used, rust-colored ball into the bin and prepared a clean bandage with ointment. “Are you in a band?”

“No, but …” He paused, as if he were deep in contemplation. “Someday, when I find the right one.”

You dressed the wound and gave him a thumbs-up. After putting the supplies in their proper places, you washed up and then turned to face your guest. Neither of you said anything, making the atmosphere rife with awkwardness. Finally, he stepped toward you—maybe a little _too_ close. You bit your tongue, nearly drawing blood. Desperately, you wanted to extract yourself from the situation—to run to the exit and never look back—but that small, inviting smirk and those inky, subtly-highlighted locks made it oh-so difficult.

Finally, you tore yourself from your reverie. “You look iron-deficient,” you said, pointing at his chest. “You’re so pale; you really need to take better care of yourself, you know.” Again, you regretted your words, and immediately clamped your mouth shut.

Taken aback, your blunt statement rendered him silent for a brief time. Confusion passed through his features—before he laughed, the sound like music to your ears. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You spun around, pink tinging your cheeks. _Wholly shit_ , you thought, shuffling to the kitchen. _Remind me to actually bite my damn tongue_ off _next time_. You felt his eyes on you as you hastily collected a mug from the cupboard and poured a cup of tea. Patiently, he waited in the living room; he seemingly perked up when you reappeared. “Please, take this,” you mumbled, still embarrassed from your earlier outburst. “It’s good for your health.”

His smile was warm as he accepted your parting gift. “Thank you for taking care of me.” He took a sip, and you studied his reaction; thankfully, he seemed pleased with your concoction. After a moment, though, he self-consciously threaded his fingers through his hair. “Again, I’m sorry for troubling you.” He gave a slight bow. “I must be going now.”

You waved away his concern. “Like I said, it wasn’t a problem.”

With another bow, he stepped into the corridor—but then suddenly, he whirled around. “By the way, my name is Yuu. I hope we can get to know each other better in the future.” He winked, then disappeared into his apartment.

Heart racing, you shut the door—and internally screamed.

For once, maybe having a new neighbor wouldn’t turn out so badly after all.

 

Over the following weeks, the two of you became further acquainted. The day after taking care of his injury, you dropped by Yuu’s apartment to check up on him. You left him some medical supplies, at least enough to last until his paycheck. And despite his insistence that you take it, you let him keep the mug. You tried to convince yourself that it wasn’t for sentimentality reasons—and that it was because he didn’t have many dishes in his possession.

But you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him using the mug—the one with the printed cat on the side that you’d accidentally picked out in a panic. The design, you thought, was somehow … fitting.

Your relationship—this _unique_ companionship that had no official name—continued. You looked out for each other—whether it was you saving a plate of dinner for him, him sliding a bag of snacks underneath the door with a note attached. _Good morning!_ , it said one time. _Here’s a bit of happiness to start your day with :)_ When you were down, he’d take the time to visit and play you your new favorite song—one that he composed himself. Yuu Shiroyama was thoughtful, alright, almost to a fault.

And maybe—just maybe—you were starting to fall for him.

 

Today, the adjacent apartment was quiet.

You wrung your hands and tried to concentrate on the TV program before you. You’d grown so accustomed to Yuu’s presence that not having him around was almost unnerving, like something in the universe was off-kilter without his bright smile to balance everything out. Sighing, you turned down the volume and headed to the kitchen to make lunch—when the sound of dragging movement and voices echoed down the hall.

Curious, you pressed your ear against the door and eavesdropped. You weren’t sure of the context, but from what parts of the conversation you managed to catch, you gleaned that some sort of delivery was made. You listened until Yuu bid the strangers goodbye, before deciding to poke your head into the corridor. There, he was seconds from vanishing into his apartment before he paused to give you a wave in greeting.

“Sounded like you performed construction in there,” you said, your tone playful.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” He let out an airy laugh. “I almost forgot how easily sound carries in this place—oh!” He clapped his hands together, his eyes alight like a child on Christmas morning. “I finally have furniture— _actual_ furniture this time!”

“That’s great! Now we won’t have to pretend we’re at the beach without the mojitos.”

“You know, if you wanted mojitos, you could have asked.”

You both laughed. Not long after he moved in, you decided you’d help him obtain some furniture. Neither of you had a lot of disposable funds to spare—so the two of you pooled your money together and bought the cheapest chair and bench you could find, both of which would have been better suited for a vacation at the beach rather than a living space. They weren’t exactly what one would call sophisticated—but they would work as a temporary solution until he could afford something more appropriate.

Suddenly, he winced. You ceased your laughter and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I hate to ask, but … do you have any pain relievers I could use?” He rubbed his temples and turned away anxiously. “I’ll pay you back later, I promise.”

“I told you before,” you said, gesturing for him to enter, “you don’t owe me anything, alright?”

You went inside, and you heard the tell-tale clicks of both doors being shut. You went over to the kitchen table, motioned for him to sit, and filled a glass with water. You sat across from him and slid the bottle of aspirin toward him.

Noticing the pain relievers were already in plain view, he remarked, “Do you get headaches often?” He grinned, a strand of raven falling and framing his gaze. “Not my fault, is it?”

Butterflies swarmed your stomach; you got the distinct feeling he knew that he had an affect on you. The fact that he knew you were aware of this—and that he didn’t care to hold back—caused your chest to tighten with excitement. “Drink up, nerd,” you chided lightly, giving him the water.

His grabbed the cup, his touch lingering longer than necessary; the feeling of electricity buzzed through your veins as he made eye contact—before pulling away and proceeding to tuck the strand of hair behind his ear like nothing out of the ordinary happened.

Like he literally didn’t just openly flirt and cause your heart to jump into your throat and lodge itself there.

In a hasty attempt to conceal the blush that stained your cheeks, you rose and occupied yourself with sorting through the contents of your refrigerator. Unfortunately, your examination yielded little results; you needed to re-stock, and your growling stomach—and dwindling bank account—had little patience for the wait.

“Are you hungry?”

You bit your lip and exhaled through your nose. “Yeah,” you murmured, swiveling on your heel.

“I’ll take you out to lunch, then—my treat.” An apologetic smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It’s the least I could do for being such a pain in the ass.”

“That sounds fabulous.” Returning to the living room, you shut off the television, scooped up your keys, and swiped a light jacket from the rack near the door. “Shall we?”

He joined you outside and waited for you to lock-up. “I have a restaurant in mind that I think you’ll absolutely _love_.”

“Can’t wait.”

The two of you departed the building. You tried your best to contain the spring in your step, to keep the giddiness from leaking out into your every action. As you made your way to the restaurant, you snuck glances at him, your stomach flipping in eager anticipation.

You’ve spent time with him before, but not like this.

And it _definitely_ didn’t cross your mind that it was a date; the thought was ludicrous.

Right?

 

After sating your appetites, you both stopped at a store to pick up some groceries. You bought whatever you could afford on your budget—which wasn’t as much as you’d like, but it would have to do for now. Yuu offered to pay for some of them, but you wouldn’t allow it; he was generous enough to pick up the tab for lunch, and you couldn’t bear the thought of burdening him with yet another one of your expenses. Instead, you slipped in a few items you knew he liked and plotted to cook him dinner someday.

_For repayment_ , you told yourself. _Nothing more_.

You were a bad liar.

The wind began to increase in strength, and the city’s color dampened with each step. You looked up, squinting your eyes. Shades of gray marred the otherwise perfect view, looking like an iron curtain of clouds that slowly obscured the sun. “Looks like it might storm,” you grumbled, internally cursing the fact that you forgot to bring your umbrella.

Yuu followed your gaze. “It’s been a while since the weather reports predicted—” Pellets of water started to fall from the sky, decorating the pavement in messy, scattered puddles. “Maybe it’s making up for lost time?”

“I still can’t believe I didn’t grab my umbrella,” you murmured, scanning the area for a place to seek shelter.

“Shit happens.” The rain intensified, and he snatched your hand. “This way!” He ran to the nearby building and ducked underneath the eaves, gently tugging you along.

You opened the shopping bag to examine its contents; thankfully, everything inside was still intact, as the packaging was fairly sturdy. Yuu did the same to the one he carried, and you exchanged nods of affirmation. You then frowned at the downpour with growing disappointment.

“I guess we’re stuck waiting it out,” you said, trying—and failing—to blot the water from your forehead, as your jacket was soaked. “Wasting time like this wasn’t part of the plan today.”

“It’s not so bad.” He turned toward you; there was softness in his eyes, a gentleness in his smile. “I get to spend it with you.”

Warmth surged through you, and you turned away, your cheeks burning hot. “I suppose not.”

The two of you remained there, below the protection of the eaves, for what seemed like an eternity. Thunder rolled overhead in the charcoal sky; you could almost feel the ground shake. Then, a sudden gust of wind nearly knocked the bag out of your grasp. You stumbled as you reached for it, desperate to keep hold—

And you found yourself in Yuu’s arms.

You locked gazes—and for a split second, time stopped. Right then, there was nothing but the two of you, the only ones that existed in the entire city.

“If could,” he breathed, hoisting you upward, “I’d rewrite the stars for you.”

At that moment, your perfect world shattered. You pulled away, convinced you misheard him, and backed away into the storm. A brief flash of shock passed over his face—or was it actually the lightning that seared the skies? Thunder clapped, startling you. Before you could regain your composure, he seized your waist, joining you there underneath the wrath of nature.

Water ran down your face where your lips met; surely, each of you could taste the drops warmed by spring’s grace. A wave coursed through you with the intensity of a hurricane as he cradled your head, the kiss becoming more firm. The bags now forgotten, everything around you blurred, like a painting left out too long in the rain. The moment stretched on forever—but somehow, it could never be long enough. Your head swam as he pulled away, the feelings that had come over you overwhelmingly intoxicating.

Thinking the tender moment was over, you searched his expression through your haze, taking in his handsome features—which, much to your relief, were filled with joy.

He collected the bags. “Let’s get back before the groceries get ruined,” he said, laughing as he sprinted back to the apartments.

His laughter was infectious; your breath came in brief gasps between relentless giggles as you chased after him. Happy tears gathered in the corners of your eyes and threatened to spill over.

Being with Yuu—it made everything feel right. Until he entered your life on that day, like a destined red string of fate, something lacked in your life. You were like an incomplete puzzle.

And you knew with certainty that Yuu was the missing piece.

 

After returning to Yuu’s apartment, you kept your hands off each other just long enough to store away the perishable goods before shedding your clothing and rushing into the shower. Water cascaded down your forms as you explored each other, your mind short-circuiting in a frenzy of lust. You moved against each other, feeling each other, igniting your nerves like an inferno.

You distinctly remember him whispering in your ear; his breath ghosted the shell, sending shivers up your spine, thrilling you with promises of what was to come.

Soon, you tumbled into the bed in a tangle of sheets, limbs, and passion. Your bodies fit perfectly together, like they were always meant for each other. Moans and gasps filled the room as you composed a beautiful melody of desire together. His touch was sensual, exhilarating—and most of all, addicting; vaguely, through the heady fog, you knew there wouldn’t be a time you wouldn’t crave his touch.

You lost track of time, but neither of you cared. Eventually, you crawled into his arms and inhaled the fresh scent of sandalwood and bergamot. He fully enveloped you in an embrace, exhaustion overtaking you in moments.

 

You didn’t know how long you were asleep, and you blinked a few times to clear the crud from your eyes. As your vision focused, you realized you had awoken in an unfamiliar room—and to your utter disbelief, you were also naked. You tried to rub your eyes to get a better look and attempt to acclimate yourself—but your arm was currently wrapped around a raven-haired man. Realization dawned on you: _Yuu—I was with Yuu_. Immediately, calmness flooded through you; there was no safer place to be than in his arms.

Yuu felt you shift, but he stayed quiet, allowing himself to revel in the closeness of your bodies. He let himself drift for a while, his mind wandering elsewhere before sleep briefly claimed you both again.

 

Time passed, and light no longer streamed through the curtains. The temperature seemed to have dropped between the time you dozed off and regained consciousness again. You fought back a shiver and pressed yourself against him; his presence breathed fire into your cold body, eliminating the chill that threatened to freeze you to the bone.

“I had a dream that I was on stage; it was so vivid.” His voice was tinged with excitement as he spoke; he mentioned before that he wanted to join a band someday. “I remember the bright lights, loud speakers, the roar of the crowd—it was _unreal_!”

Silence came over the room, as if he were reliving his dream in real-time.

“I finally figured it out,” he said after a few moments. “My new stage name.”

“And what’s that?” you murmured, preoccupying yourself with a tousled strand of his still damp hair.

“Aoi,” he answered, his eyes sparkling despite the exhaustion that threatened to pull him under again.

You smiled, snuggling closer to him under the duvet, your eyes slipping closed as you listened to the steady beating of his heart. “It suits you.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like what you read, please leave some kudos and/or comment to let me know! Constructive criticism is always welcome, so don’t be afraid to say what’s on your mind.


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